


Gone

by stelthykat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Mourning, Spoilers, cursing, descriptions of medical procedures, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelthykat/pseuds/stelthykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set somewhere between "Sign of Three" and "His Last Vow" will include his last vow in the later chapters. Full summary inside as I don't want to have any spoilers out here in the open. </p><p>An early morning call brought Sherlock into this mess. Mary Watson was dead, John Watson in mourning, and searching for a killer that he will never find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> John Watson is sure that his wife was murdered. So sure in fact that he's going to prove it, and obtain justice for his late wife and unborn child. Sherlock however, is simply trying to prove his own deductions wrong, because John has to be right. 
> 
> Sucky summary but meh. *AU based on when Mary dies in the Conan Doyle works only set in the modern series. I figured it'd be really cool and awesome to write her death and how it affects John. (Plus I was tired of writing other stuff.) 
> 
> My first AU and Sherlock fic so if anything's wrong or OOC feel free to help me improve by leaving a review. And enjoy! Updates will be sporadic but I want to beat the series at it's own game and have this out before they get series 4 out!

It was four in the morning when his phone rang. Loudly, obnoxious to the point where Sherlock debated going through the effort to drop it out the window. He was on a case for Christ’s sake! And it was interesting and stimulating and good god how had the man managed to sneak into the flat and tie the woman up, torturing her with no discernible sounds until- 

“Sherlock!” he looked up hurriedly from the evidence scattered among the floor and glared at Mrs. Hudson in shock and anger. When had she gotten there? Better yet, who did she think she was to interrupt his mind and potentially ruin the case-

“It’s John!” her face contorted into something that his brain vaguely recognized as worry and she held the phone out, her muscles trembling with the effort and emotion behind it. “He sounds-“ Sherlock snatched the phone out of her loose grasp before he held it to his ear, standing and not needing her explanation to answer a call from John. “Upset.” She whispered, then turned and fled back to her flat. 

“John.” Sherlock said in greeting, trying to sound more interested than he was initially. “What do I owe the pleasure of-“ 

“She’s gone.” John’s voice sounded raspy, thick with emotion and sleep and something else that Sherlock couldn’t quite place. 

“Who?” he cocked his head and shifted his posture to ease the slight ache in his feet. “John who’s gone? Gone where?” Sherlock mentally berated John for not being articulate enough to give him details. 

“Mary.” The voice chocked out and for some reason that pushed all thought out of Holme’s brain. “She’s just…. fuck….” John’s voice wavered and the shrill screech of anguish that emitted from the voice tore through the veil of nonchalance that Sherlock had built up. 

“John!” Sherlock strode over to where he had thrown his coat, managing to pull it on one handed, “John!” he tried again, raising his voice more until the wail ceased and all that could be heard were the small shuddering sobs of a man in pain. “John tell me where you are, tell me what’s happened.” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice as images of John strapped to a bomb, of Mary kidnapped invaded his brain. Mary completed John; therefore she was necessary to their…. Group….. arrangement; whatever people liked to call them. 

“Sherlock….” John’s voice crackled again and another sob blossomed from his throat. “Oh god she’s gone!” 

“John, where are you?!” Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, stumbling out the door and into the streets of London before he realized that it was four am. No cabs were running in this part for at least another hour. 

“Home, Chirst, we’re at home.” The voice sounded broken again and Sherlock took a deep breath, his feet moving towards John’s apartment with a speed that he didn’t think was possible; the phone held in his grasp while his feet covered ground. 

I’m coming John, Mary, Sherlock allowed his mind to whisper, before rationality took over and his feet moved faster. 

 

Chapter I

“John,” Sherlock searched for the right words and failed, “John we need to call Lestrade. An ambulance.” Someone, anyone. 

“No.” John murmured, burying his face into his bloodstained knees and shuddering, “No.” His body began to rock back and forth violently and Sherlock took the opportunity to kneel beside him, unsure of what to do. 

“John we have to.” Sherlock took another glance back to Mary- no – what had been Mary and then cast his attention back to John. Bloodstained, weary John. 

“No!” John tried again, his rocking increasing and voice strained. 

“We have to call someone John.” Sherlock let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in and cocked his head in confusion and wonderment at the range of emotions John was exploiting. He bit his snarl of frustration back as he looked at John and supplied: “At least call Mycroft.” Because Mycroft would tell him to fuck off and then turn around and call Lestrade to go in and fix what Sherlock had managed to fuck up. 

It was not ideal, but sufficient enough to get John to look up at him through tear stained eyes. “You’re right.” 

Sherlock smiled wryly, trying to be comforting. “I’m rarely wrong.” 

“Mycroft can pull out all the stops, he can catch the bastard. With him and you – you can solve this.” 

Sherlock frowned at that, casting another wary glance back to the body. “John I don’t think-“ 

“Because this – this is murder here Sherlock.” John’s fevered rocking slowly stopped and fierce blue eyes bored into him. “She was perfectly fine last night, never better and now this?” John took in a huge breath that rattled his rib cage and made his hands twitch with either anger or stress. “Go, look for yourself!” John commanded, throwing his anger towards Sherlock and wildly gesturing to the corpse. “She was murdered!” The scream of utter rage that burst forth from Watson made Sherlock abruptly stand and make his way over to the body. 

As always Mary looked peaceful, her once bright blue eyes open listlessly and her facial muscles relaxed. Gently running a hand down her hair line Sherlock desperately searched for a wound, anything to prove that John was right and not so…. Human. Taking more initiative towards his goal he ran his gaze down her body. 

Noting her relaxed posture, coloration of the corpse, the gentle curve of once moving limbs which were intact and unmarked. His eyes drifted back up to her face and the slow trickle of blood the flowed from her nose. Casting John a wary look Sherlock bent down to gently part her dried lips, gently taking in the slight discoloration of teeth and slight smell of sickness. Straightening himself Sherlock felt the sudden urge to be wrong. He stood for a moment in silence, facing away from John who was so broken, so unlike himself and wished that he would be. That John would be right and they would go on a case and-

“John,” he tried quietly, refusing to look back and see his friend broken, “She had a headache didn’t she? Maybe….. some vomiting?” 

“…. Yes.” John murmured, “But it was murder! She was slipped something, drugged, killed somehow!” 

“John I-“ Sherlock paused, closing his eyes and swallowing the bitterness back down. He was right. Whatever had killed Mary was not a murderer, not some fiend that they could catch and kill; it was something all too natural and unpredictable. 

“Sherlock….” John gasped out and immediately Sherlock turned to face him, ignoring the fact that he hated, no loathed, to see John so broken. Ignoring the fact that he was utterly clueless about how to act or what to say. Hating that the fact that the one person in this Universe who could stand him was so vulnerable now and that he could inflict more damage by just being himself. 

“John….” Sherlock gathered his wits, slowly walking over and kneeling in front of his friend. “John we have to clear our minds, we have to think, alright?” John nodded twice, dragging his listless eyes away from the body to meet Sherlock’s. “You’re a doctor and I’m the most intelligent person on this Earth, we can figure this out right here and now.” 

“Please,” John huffed, keeping all too still. 

“First off let’s start with medical issues. Did anything run in her family?” 

John hesitated, opening and closing his mouth before he shook his head, eyes tearing up. “She never knew her family….. she was adopted.” John blinked, his breathing picking up as he looked back around the detective to see Mary. “Oh god, she could’ve- I could’ve- we should’ve run-“ 

“John!” Sherlock snapped, reaching out and grabbing the doctors shoulder to haul his gaze away from the body. “We’ve got to keep a clear head about this yeah?” he waited for John to calm some and continued as softly as he could, “We’ve got to treat this like any other case. Doctors cannot be personally involved hmm?” John nodded again, his eyes letting some of the mist flow down his cheeks. 

“Yeah.” He breathed, swallowing heavily and slowing his breathing. 

“What were those symptoms indicative of?” John began shaking his head violently, almost thrashing in Sherlock’s grip. 

“I’m a damned doctor Sherlock I would've seen- I would’ve noticed – it wasn't medical it was murder!” he bellowed, breaking free of Sherlock’s grip to flail his way over beside the body. His hands opened and closed around her forearms, his face buried itself near her neck as he bawled, his entire being shaking with the forcefulness of grief. 

Taking in a breath Sherlock stood, carefully making his way over to the door where he could call Lestrade without John hearing blatantly. The chances of this being murder were small, minuscule. Improbable. Mary Watson had died of natural causes. He could already see it. 

The way that her facial muscles were eased, the way that her nightgown was un-rumpled, the way that her blood had seeped slowly out of her nose and how her breath had the idle scent of vomit not akin to her pregnancy. 

It took six short rings for Lestrade to pick up, his voice drowsy as he gripped, “Solved the case then Sherlock? Wait…. Why’re you callin?” 

It took a moment for Sherlock to answer, his brain in overdrive as he sought for a possible way that this was something he could solve. Fix. 

“Sherlock?” the drowsy voice was clearing to be replaced by worry. 

“Lestrade, I-“ Sherlock paused, lowering his voice. “I need you to bring an ambulance and forensic team to home of Dr. John Watson.” 

“Oh Christ,” Lestrade started, his voice sounding muffled as he presumably threw on clothes. “Oh fuck, not John-“ 

“Mary Watson is dead.” Sherlock stated. Blunt. Cold. Professional. This had to be another case. There had to be closure for John, justice for Mary. This had to be something that he could solve. Fix. 

The line went silent for moments, only the subtle muffled wailing of John in the bedroom audible. 

“We’ll be there in five, gimme time to alert medical.” 

“Take your time Detective Inspector.” Sherlock cast an uncertain look back at John through the crack in the door. “We won’t be going anywhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short build up to the actual good stuff. I use good arbitrarily as I probably won't write it as such.... but in my head it'll be fun to write and more action filled!

Chapter 2

 

John felt like he was in a stupor. Mary couldn’t be dead. Mary could not be dead. She was fine last night. Her cheeks were a simple dusky rose color, her eyes bright as she laughed at some stupid joke he had made with. 

She’d eaten her dinner, settled in with him on the sofa and watched some dull movie. It was the regular routine after work and she’d been fine. After the movie she’d complained about a headache, took some pills and was fine again. 

She’d patted her belly, talked about the baby some…. John could feel the blood drain out of his face. 

He’d lost them both, unable to keep them safe. He’d promised – he’d promised Mary that she would always be safe. After the wedding, after they knew about the baby he’d stopped going on cases with Sherlock. He’d stopped (or at least limited it if he was honest) because keeping her safe was his first priority. Keeping them safe was more important than his own desires. 

“Mary….” He murmured, trying to figure out when cold clinical hands had moved him from his position by her side to Sherlock’s. His eyes drifted upwards to meet Sherlock’s gaze. Usually he could tell what the consulting detective was thinking simply by how he stared him down. If Sherlock was pissed to hell and back the stare was unrelenting, never blinking and his eyes a deeper color. If, however, Sherlock was concerned about something the eyes were more yielding, brighter and elastic while he pondered it out. This was something new, something in between the two gazes that John couldn’t decipher. 

“John,” Sherlock fumbled, eyes blinking rapidly and swerving about the room, “Let’s go downstairs, alright?” after a moment of tense silence John thrashed his head, looking back again to the clinical cold hands roaming over his wife, no real urgency behind them, their hair pulled back and in nets and their feet covered in boots. All things that John knew screamed death, all things that he knew meant she was gone. Forever. 

“Help her goddamnit!” he roared, trying to fight the urge to fix it himself. Mary was not dead, she couldn’t be! He’d been wrong before, he’d thought Sherlock – Sherlock had died. But he hadn’t; it’d just been some sadistic game and he’d come back. He took a step forward, eager to shake Mary and demand that she wake up. Don’t do this to me too! He pleaded inwardly. Don’t pretend to leave me too…. 

“John!” Sherlock’s hand reached out, tugging him backwards and pinning him in-between the wall and someone else. “John think! You’re smarter than this!” 

And if anything sobered him up it was Sherlock telling him that he was being stupid. “She’s pulling a you.” He whispered, ignoring the stares that the detectives and not doctors were giving him. “What did you put her up to?” he gave a wry smile and when Sherlock frowned he stopped dead. 

“I would never, never do that to you John.” Sherlock’s jaw tightened, his facial muscles constricting and gaze back to that unknown. “I know how much you loved her, how much she meant to you. I would never condone her doing what I did. There would be no point.” 

John stared back. Logically he knew she was gone. She was gone and nobody, not even Sherlock Holmes could bring her back. 

“Let’s…..” Sherlock looked around again, eyes taking in the room until they landed back on John, “Let’s go downstairs, let Lestrade and his monkeys finish up….” When John gave no resistance to his slight tugs Sherlock casually pushed and pulled him to the living room and sat him on a sofa. 

This was a foreign and strange land to Sherlock. How did people usually respond when their friend was so broken? It didn’t compute. John knew Mary was dead. He knew that nothing could bring her back, yet he was still like this. How did people cope? Death was death. Dead and gone, no need to mourn or be like…. Like this. 

There was a soft moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of the team upstairs and the quiet murmuring that was a bit too loud for Sherlock’s liking. 

“John?” A gentle voice prodded Sherlock back into reality as he spun around to face Lestrade. “John?” the Detective slowly made his way over to John and knelt in front of him, ignoring Sherlock and instead putting a hand on Watson’s shoulder. “C’mon,” Lestrade lowered his voice and waited for hurt, crystalline eyes to meet his fully. “How about you go with Sherlock, hm? We’ll finish up things here and get everything sorted.” 

John shook his head again, groaning in what Sherlock could only describe as animalistic pain. 

“We’ll come get you as soon as we’re ready for you.” Lestrade gave a smile, looking back to Sherlock in gesture, “He won’t let us forget, right?” John cast a dubious glance at Sherlock, then focused back in on Lestrade and his sympathetic smiles and reassurances. 

“You come get us the moment, the moment, that you’re finished.” John breathed out. 

“Of course.” Lestrade nodded, “The exact second we finish up I’ll come get you both personally.” 

“Because Sherlock- we have work to do.” John spat, his hands and voice ceasing their quivering and his posture straightening. 

Lestrade cocked his head and looked over his shoulder at Sherlock, in something that the Consulting Detective could only interpret as either a glare or query. 

“Because this isn’t right….” John removed Lestrade’s hand from his shoulder, “Mary was murdered.” 

Lestrade stayed unusually quiet, his brain actually working for once much to Sherlock’s surprise. “Yes,” he breathed, “We need to entertain that possibility.” He cast a glance to Sherlock and stood up, “Sherlock, a word.” 

With a lingering look at John Sherlock followed Lestrade into the kitchen, lowering his voice, “We both know detective that Mary Watson wasn’t murdered-“ 

“You think I’m that daft?” Lestrade ran a hand through his admittedly thinning hair and blinked owlishly at Sherlock. “If it helps him cope for right now there’s no harm. You get him home, make sure he’s okay, I’ll come get you both before the autopsy.” 

With a nod Sherlock spun on his heel, trying to ignore his ineptitude in these matters. “And Sherlock?” Lestrade called, louder this time. “Don’t belittle this. Don’t be an ass.” 

 

“John?” Sherlock gripped his friend’s shoulder and tugged, practically dragging him with him as he made his way to the door. “Let’s let them do their jobs, god knows they need to actually work once in a while.” 

“Sherlock,” John breathed, his voice wavering as he stared down his moving feet, “I – I want to hire you.” 

Sherlock cocked his head, frowning as he looked at John who was not so subtly looking away.

“You’re the only one who can solve this, I know it, you know it….” John made it to the door first, flinging it open as he glanced around as if waiting for directions. 

Sherlock simply looked on, trying to piece together the puzzle that was human beings. Coping. John was coping. 

**

The drive to 221B Baker street was not like Sherlock had anticipated. Usually John couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, thinking and speaking so loud that it nearly drove Sherlock to insanity. It was a cacophony of mindless chatter and noises purely for the sake of noises, yet oddly comforting in its own way. 

And now there was nothing. The ride had been too silent, too unlike John. When they had finally arrived at the flat, at home Sherlock inwardly corrected, John had stayed immobile until Sherlock tugged on his sleeve, trying to ignore the swollen blue and red that surrounded John’s eyes and instead focusing on taking two steps at a time to the door, opening it and ushering John inside, then turning the thrust money through to the driver and waltzing back in. 

“John?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice echoed, her face contorted into worry at the sight of him, “What the hell-?” 

“Mrs. Hudson, some tea please,” Sherlock gripped John’s arm, blocking out the sensation of it quivering against his grip and giving a shark like smile at the woman and trying to dissuade her fears, “John and I will be upstairs.” 

Gently he prodded John to move up each step, goading him on vocally and with two fingers jabbed against the man’s spine. It seemed so long ago that John would have been doing this to him, so long ago that John seemed…. Well, John. Upon entering the flat Sherlock unceremoniously drug John across the floor and pushed him down into the chair, his chair. 

No sooner had he backed up, intent on asking John the facts about what exactly had happened to Mary had John’s face welled up, his gaze wavering off into the space between Sherlock and the window while tears poured mercilessly down his face. 

Frowning Sherlock took his preordained seat in his chair and cocked his head, trying to formulate a proper response. When people grieved others joined in, when people were grieving Lestrade had said to be ‘sympathetic’. But Sherlock couldn’t feel grief. Not when he hadn’t known Mary long. He could come to miss her from time to time, of that he was certain, but it was not for the reasons that John would like. John grieved for Mary because he loved her. 

Sherlock would ‘grieve’ for Mary because she was good for John. 

“Now John,” Mrs. Hudson chattered while she made her way through the door and into the kitchen with her tray, hastily retrieving a cup for his wallowing friend. “You tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it right, you’ll see!” 

John gave a short laugh that sounded more like a snort and shook even harder. “She’s dead Mrs. Hudson….. Mary’s…. she was fine yesterday and then today she was just…. gone-” he chocked on his tea and quickly set the glass aside to bury his face in his hands; breath coming out in harsh, uneven increments. Broken only by the short words of, “Murder…..Sherlock…..solve…. it wasn’t….. it wasn’t….. natural…..” 

For a brief moment the landlady looked stunned. Her face pale and drawn, her eyes darting back and forth between John and Sherlock in a calculating manner that the detective hadn’t seen since she hired him to kill her husband. And then the floodgates opened. 

She openly wept, wrapping her arms around John and rocking him back and forth, muttering condolences that Sherlock was sure were only meant for John, meaningless though they may be. However, John took notice of them so it was all right, they were useful. 

After an ungodly amount of time had passed Mrs. Hudson slowly stood and wiped her tears away, giving a weak smile to John and then Sherlock as she made her way into the hall. 

“Sherlock!” her voice snapped up, and reminiscent of the days when his mother would call him he immediately responded. Casting a lasting look at the still trembling John he wandered into the hall and looked down into cold, calculating eyes. Ah yes, this, this was why he so dearly loved Mrs. Hudson. 

“Mrs. Hudson?” calm and devoid of emotion, devoid of the doubt he had in his capacities to handle this. 

“If you think I don’t know what you’re doing then think again.” She was like a pit viper when she wanted to be. 

“What do you ‘know’ I’m doing?” he murmured, casting his gaze away. 

“Sherlock,” her voice softened, her face contorting into sympathy. “I know you, I know that you hate seeing him so lost and I know that you’ll do anything to prove that it could have been prevented. That he’s right in thinking it was murder.” 

Sherlock blinked at her. It was an uncharacteristically astute deduction. “I can assure you-“ 

“Don’t you dare.” Mrs. Hudson frowned, “Don’t go into this trying to prove he was right, Sherlock.” She smiled sadly, “Go in trying to prove that he couldn’t have prevented it.” She shook her head, “Love does funny things to people. It makes us hate and be irrational and it makes us wish.” Another sly glance at John and she looked back into his eyes. “You don’t know how to cope with this do you?” 

And there it was. Blunt honesty. He was out of his depth. For once. “No…” he murmured, looking away. 

“Then let me give you advice Sherlock,” she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Don’t be afraid to help him. Don’t be afraid to be there for him and get his mind off of things and, and, well I dunno figure things out himself.” She patted his arm and took small steps down the stairs. “Just don’t forget that he needs you, not some detective.” 

Sherlock slowly walked back into the room. Be himself. Don’t be himself. 

Solve the case. Don’t solve the case. 

People were just as confusing as their emotions. Casting John (who was utterly encompassed by grief) a small look Sherlock opened his mouth and said the few words that he knew would be his eventual fall: 

“The game’s afoot.” 

And for the first time in a long time John’s eyes lighted up with fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if everything's ooc. I've hit finals week(s) and my brain is practically mush. But I can't let something hang in the air so I'm splitting my time between classes, studying, and writing. So if you see anything or any errors or room for improvement, please feel free to point these out and let me know! 
> 
> I promise next chapter will have much more detectiving? Homiciding? Action! 
> 
> *And yes I do imagine Mrs. Hudson as this little, innocent lady who can be as tough as nails when called for. C'mon people, she admits to ensuring her husbands death and goes through a small bout of.... pseudo torture, and has to put up with Sherlock living above her. I think she's earned her badge of 'badassedness'


End file.
